


oikawa & kuroo's infinite playlist

by dicaeopolis



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Doctor Who, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 08:26:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7750489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dicaeopolis/pseuds/dicaeopolis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa and Kuroo follow each other through incalculable myriads of millenniums.</p>
            </blockquote>





	oikawa & kuroo's infinite playlist

**Author's Note:**

> ON FF.NET BACK IN THE DAY THERE WAS THIS CHALLENGE WHERE YOU PUT YOUR MUSIC ON SHUFFLE AND WROTE TO EACH SONG THAT CAME UP UNTIL YOU HAD A STORY. IS THAT STILL A THING. AM I SHOWING MY AGE
> 
> i'd like to thank [betsy](http://www.twitter.com/owlinaminor) for betaing while simultaneously offering her a heartfelt _fuck you_ for getting me into fucking. chameleon circuit back in ninth grade ~~I WAS NEVER EVEN A WHOVIAN I DONT DESERVE THIS~~
> 
> title is from a david levithan book. summary references jack london.
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/dickaeopolis/status/764132175272931328) | [tumblr](http://vivasimplemindedness.tumblr.com/post/148847193173/oikawa-kuroos-infinite-playlist)

[ 1.  The Origin Of Love - Hedwig and the Angry Inch ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VZtyFQQPnEs)

They were in the same Ancient Greek mythology class. Oikawa was taking it to fill some distribution requirements getting in the way of his astrophysics major. Kuroo was taking it to understand the myriad allusions in his English literature major. Both of them were good at studying, but neither was particularly good at mythology, so they partnered up as “the apocalypse is coming” study buddies when exams began to loom like an oncoming steamroller.

On the day before the exam, Oikawa got to the library early and commandeered the best pair of beanbags in the building - the ones that overlooked the lake so that suffering students could stare wistfully down on the beautiful weather they were missing. He texted Kuroo to join him, and Kuroo arrived with a backpack full of Penguin classics and a crooked smile of commiseration. They skipped lunch and ordered takeout for dinner, and on their study breaks, the conversation drifted from memorization and flashcards to fancy and whimsy, the idiosyncracies of gods and monsters and heroes.

“What’s your favorite one?” Kuroo asked, around ten o’clock that night. “Of all the myths, I mean.” He gestured vaguely at the rough circle of paperbacks and notebooks scattered around their beanbags like a nuclear fallout zone.

Oikawa considered. “I like Odysseus,” he said at last. “He didn’t have anything but wit, but his mind gave him control over the greatest warriors of both armies. I admire that, honestly. Yours?”

“Hmm.” Kuroo glanced down at their books. “Baucis and Philemon, I think.”

“Uh.” Oikawa frowned in concentration, but all the damn Greek names sounded the same at that point. “Which one’s that?”

Kuroo glanced sidelong at him. “The one with the trees?” When Oikawa just stared back blankly, he continued. “This old couple gave a pair of beggars food and hospitality, and the beggars turned out to be disguised gods who offered them a favor. The old couple were so in love with each other that they asked to never be separated. So when Baucis died, Philemon followed an instant later, and the gods turned them into a pair of trees so they would never be apart.”

“Oh, some mythological characters turn into trees, that’s a new one.” Sarcasm dripped from Oikawa’s voice, but when he looked over, Kuroo was getting that dreamy look in his eyes, like the one Hanamaki always got when he’d just finished a batch of brownies. Ugh, he should’ve expected a _literature_ major to like that sort of shmoop. “You think it’s _romantic,_ I bet.”

“It _is_ romantic,” Kuroo insisted. “No matter what afterlife was coming, they wanted to go into it together.”

Oikawa rolled his eyes. “They could’ve had _armies._ They could’ve conquered the _world._ You’re just a sap.”

“Sap,” said Kuroo intelligently. “Trees.”

He broke out into snorty donkey-laughter. Oikawa crumpled up an empty can of Red Bull and chucked it at him, and then, when Kuroo just laughed harder, attempted to swat him in the head with the nearest copy of the Iliad.

Kuroo ducked swiftly out of range, still chuckling. “Alright, alright, stop hitting me with the Homer!” He looked up at Oikawa, honey-golden eyes bright with mischief. “Jeez, find your A _chill_ es.”

“Oh my god, shut _up.”_

[ 2.  All That Jazz - Chicago](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gU3k1Tpih8E)

The pianist was captivating the room.

He was a tall, thin young man with unruly black hair, wearing an elegant old suit with the tailcoat hanging down behind the dark walnut of the bench. He’d been playing all night, and the notes dripped from his fingers, wound between the dancers like an electric river, and then floated upwards through the haze of smoke and elation and soaked into the dark rafters. The dance floor was Oikawa’s kingdom - but of all the nights he had reigned, it had never felt so alive as it did now, filled with the pianist’s fluid song.

And Oikawa hated it. Every time he managed to spin the blonde flapper he was dancing with over towards the piano, his subtle glares over her shoulder at the pianist grew more vitriolic. The pianist was captivating the room, and that was a _problem,_ because _Oikawa_ should be the one captivating the room. The attention should be on _Oikawa’s_ coiffed hair, _Oikawa’s_ sparkling eyes, _Oikawa’s_ slim form twirling in black and white across the dance floor with a pretty laugh that caught the ears of everyone in the room. This was _his_ dance floor, and yet the bridesmaid had the nerve to outshine the bride. Only he wasn’t even the bridesmaid, he was the _organist_ \- the one who should be _accenting_ Oikawa’s spotlight, not _usurping_ it.

Oikawa gave his partner a final spin - what was her name? Roxie? - and kissed her cheek goodbye. She blushed prettily under the sparkles that scattered up from the abundant sequins on her dress. He melted out of the crowd - noting with irritation how few eyes followed his departure - and grabbed a glass of gin on his way over to the dim corner of the room where the piano rested languid and powerful, where the pianist lounged at the crooked old keys in all his smug glory.

Oikawa leaned against the side of the piano, sipping his gin and watching the dancers, watching how the dim lights touched their cheekbones and fingertips. The pianist did not acknowledge his presence. Oikawa waited until he knew the song was approaching a particularly complex crescendo, and then murmured just loud enough to reach the pianist’s ears, “Cut it out.”

Irritatingly, the pianist didn’t miss a single note. He didn’t even look up from his sheet music - he just responded, “Is my playing unsatisfactory?

His voice was low, rich, curling with amusement, as though he already knew exactly why Oikawa was there. Oikawa huffed. _“I’m_ unsatisfied. Nobody’s looking at _me._ Fix it.”

The pianist’s fingers danced deft and graceful over the keys. Against his better judgment, Oikawa glanced over at him. He noted sourly that the guy’s cheeks were tensed to hide a smile, that his long lashes were studiously downcast over his high cheekbones. “Hmm.”

“You have thoughts?”

“Just that perhaps they’re not looking at you because they’re too busy looking at each other.”

Oikawa looked back out at the floor. The pianist was right - he hadn’t caught it from the floor, but for the first time since he’d started coming here, the dancers were all in pairs, all shining eyes and exhilarated smiles lingering on each other.

Oikawa crossed his arms. “And I suppose _you’re_ making them do that.”

The pianist reached up and swiftly flipped to the next page of sheet music without missing a beat. “I’d just say I play music for people to fall in love to, you know?”

“Okay, whatever,” Oikawa said. “If they’re going to be falling in love, they should be falling in love with _me.”_

“Well, see,” the pianist responded, lifting his eyes just enough that Oikawa could catch the honey-gold gleam of mischief through the low light, “falling in love is a two-person dance. And I haven’t seen you meet anyone near your equal tonight.”

Oikawa stared at him for a moment, then downed his gin and slammed the empty glass down on the polished black walnut of piano lid.

As he stormed back onto the dance floor, the notes behind him rose and sped up until they were nearly tumbling over each other in merry tuplets - and Oikawa knew it was the pianist’s version of laughter.

Roxie was dancing with some schmuck. Oikawa swept her away from him so smoothly that the man was left empty-armed and blinking in confusion behind him. And as all the dancers in love swirled around them, the music kicked into a higher gear.

Oikawa spun Roxie around and spurred her into a faster pace to match his own, veins thrumming with the thrill of the challenge. He didn’t look at the pianist once, but he could feel the man’s eyes on the pair of them. More importantly, he could _hear_ the piano’s attention, hear it flying through red-hot swings and crescendos to pursue his movements before he even made them - and he could twirl Roxie across the dance floor with wildfire in his steps and a gleam in his eyes, leading her with the lithe precision to match the music’s pace.

_I haven’t seen you meet anyone near your equal tonight._

The pianist was wrong about that, at least.

When Oikawa glanced down at Roxie, she was bright with excitement. It occurred to him, belatedly, that maybe she _was_ falling in love with him tonight.

Regrettable, really, that Oikawa’s own sights were set elsewhere.

Tonight’s dance was timeless, so he had no idea how much time had passed when the pianist’s shift ended. The new one who came to replace him was good too, and the music only stopped for half a beat as they switched places on the bench, but the room still visibly drooped. A few couples moved to leave right away. From the dance floor, Oikawa watched as the pianist quietly left from a side door.

He kissed Roxie on the cheek again, and barely lingered on the disappointment in her eyes when he whispered his goodbye. She went back to the schmuck - her husband, Oikawa realized - and Oikawa slipped off to chase his own prey.

The pianist was waiting in the alley, as Oikawa knew he would be. “Have you fallen in love yet?” he asked by way of a greeting.

Oikawa examined the pianist in this new lighting. He was long, lean, dark. Chicago was smoky and alive around him, and the end of his cigar glowed red in the night. “I think my partner did, at least.”

“Should she have?”

“Absolutely not. I’m Oikawa Tooru, by the way.”

“Kuroo Tetsurou.” Kuroo offered Oikawa his cigar. Oikawa accepted it and took a long drag. “And the music did nothing to you? You’re sure?”

There was laughter lurking somewhere under his voice, like he _knew._ Oikawa handed back the cigar - but when Kuroo’s fingers wrapped around it, Oikawa didn’t let go. He drew Kuroo closer, stood up on his tiptoes, and leaned in like he was going to whisper a secret.

“If you came back inside to dance with me,” he breathed into Kuroo’s ear, close enough that Oikawa knew he could feel his smile. “I think I’d figure it out.”

Kuroo’s eyes slid over to meet Oikawa’s, and his cheeks curved up in a smirk to match.

“Lead the way.”

[ 3.  Star Wars A Capella Tribute to John Williams - Corey Vidal and Moosebutter ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lk5_OSsawz4)

“You’re _way_ too good at this!” Oikawa panted between strikes. He grinned at Kuroo through the lightning-quick flickers of their lightsabers - his glowing harsh red, Kuroo’s electric blue.

Kuroo smirked back at him without losing an instant of focus. “You’re not the only one who’s trained up since we were Padawans on Coruscant, you know.”

He parried Oikawa’s sudden slash, then redoubled his offensive, pushing Oikawa slowly but steadily backwards across the bridge with a swift flurry of strikes. Oikawa allowed him to push, watching with interest to see what Kuroo would do. Beneath them, the _krshhhhh_ and _vrew_ of their battle echoed down through the wide chute that yawned down through the core of the ship into dark nothingness..

Oikawa’s saber flickered suddenly past Kuroo’s guard - a new maneuver he’d learned since he left the Jedi order - just close enough to nick the front of Kuroo’s cream-colored tunic. He laughed out loud at the flash of shock in Kuroo’s eyes. “Well, _I_ got a makeover.”

“Black doesn’t suit you.” Kuroo lunged forward - and nearly sheared off Oikawa’s left arm before Oikawa managed to throw his blade up to block him with a _kschhhhh._

 _“Excuse_ you, I think I look fantastic.” Without warning, Oikawa dove down and forward through Kuroo’s bowed legs. Kuroo barely spun around in time to counter Oikawa’s instant attack from the back.

“I _taught_ you that move, asshole!” Kuroo pressed the young Sith Lord back across the bridge again. He was smiling, but his eyes were keener than Oikawa liked. “You know…” He slashed upwards, attempting to circumvent Oikawa’s guard from below. Oikawa countered the blow automatically. They still knew each other’s rhythms by heart. “You know you could come back, right? I know you miss Coruscant.”

“Hmm.” Oikawa hummed a little. “Only the parts of it that aren’t city, I think.”

_“Tooru.”_

“Breaking out the childhood nicknames isn’t fair play, Tetsu-chan,” Oikawa singsonged.

“Neither is turning to the Dark Side,” Kuroo pointed out. He sliced down at Oikawa from above. Oikawa countered the movement easily, and used the leverage of their lightsabers pressed together to vault in a somersault straight over Kuroo’s still perpetually-messy head. “You could wear white again, Tooru. If you wanted.”

“Over my dead body.” Oikawa landed lightly, on the balls of his feet, and whirled around to leap right back into the duel. Ah, this was his favorite part.

But Kuroo’s heart wasn’t in it. Their pace was almost automatic at this point, and Kuroo was staring at him, calculating. Oikawa’s nose scrunched in annoyance. This wasn’t _fun._

And then Kuroo did the most surprising thing of all: he switched his lightsaber off with a _shhhhhik._ “Then how about mine?”

Oikawa hesitated in place, furrowing his brow in a question.

“Kill _me,”_ Kuroo continued. “Go on.”

Oikawa’s forehead smoothed, and he tossed his head with his signature Venus flytrap smile. He switched off his blade too, clipping the handle back onto his belt. “And miss out on all the fun we have together? Never.”

 _“See._ Your emotions are your weakness,” Kuroo pressed. “Like all Sith. Come home, learn to control them.”

“What, you mean how I won’t kill you? It’s really all to my advantage, you know.” Oikawa waved a dismissive hand. “They know I won’t hurt you, I know you can’t beat me, we both win.”

Kuroo shook his head, leaning back on the metal handrail that ran along the walkway. “Tooru… Why’d you _do_ it? You were the best in our class at the Jedi Academy; I _know_ you can rein yourself in when you want to.”

Oikawa scowled, ready to be done with this conversation. He lunged forward, pinning Kuroo back against the rail. “Well, between you and me…” he murmured, slotting his leg between Kuroo’s and smiling tranquilly at him across the half-inch of space separating their faces, “I could never do the whole _vow of celibacy_ thing.”

Neither of them breathed for a moment. Then Oikawa rolled his hips forward against Kuroo’s, and a smirk crawled across his face like a slime mold as his eyes slid downwards. “How’s that one working out for _you,_ Tetsu-chan?”

“Don’t look at my fucking boner when we fight,” Kuroo said indignantly. Oikawa’s giggles floated down the chute as they leapt back into their practiced dance along the walkway, slashing and hacking and parrying in a flurry of blue and red and silver.

Maybe, if they stopped sending this one particular Jedi Knight after him, Oikawa would put on white robes again and go back to Coruscant to ask forgiveness.

But right now, all he wanted was wielding a blue lightsaber and a wicked smile on the walkway across from him.

[ 4.  Robot Rock/Oh Yeah - Daft Punk ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lVKbF8khsrI)

Kuroo gave the wrench one last twist, making sure Oikawa’s mechanical innards were secured tightly before he flipped shut the carbon panel over the android’s stomach. “Lev, screwdriver? The tiny one.”

The tall silver assistant bot whirred over to Kuroo. From the toolbox in its belly, it spat out a miniscule screwdriver with enough force that it nearly impaled Kuroo’s hand. Kuroo plucked the quivering tool out of the wood of the workbench, where it was embedded a full inch deep, and carefully placed the wrench in the bot’s repository. “Thanks, Lev.”

“I don’t understand why you keep that thing around,” said a voice from the table. Kuroo looked down at his current subject - he was a robot too, but more humanoid than Lev, with flawless synthetic skin, soft fibers of hair, and a gaze so sharp it almost seemed real. Oikawa Tooru, as he had been named by Kuroo. S-10385, as he was called by the government that owned him.

“You know he can hear you, right?” As if to back up Kuroo’s claim, Lev beeped angrily on the other side of the room, where he was arranging Kuroo’s abundant dirty coffee mugs into a precarious pyramid.

“He _should.”_ Oikawa raised his voice a little, so Lev could hear him better. “That piece of junk is useless.”

Lev made some snide burbling noises in Oikawa’s general direction. On the table behind Kuroo, Oikawa’s disembodied arm made a rude gesture back.

 _“You’re_ useless,” Kuroo informed his patient. Subject. His subject. “At least until I get you closed up and put your arm back on. Stay _still.”_

Oikawa closed his eyes dutifully, but when Kuroo tightened one tiny screw on his stomach panel after another, his stomach tensed, then trembled slightly. Kuroo prodded at his side, just to tease, and smirked at the resulting startled mishmash of feedback - Oikawa’s laughter.

“I still can’t believe you made me _ticklish,”_ Oikawa complained from the head of the bench. “There’s _no_ reason-”

“All automatons must possess fully functional nervous and emotional response systems, in order to make them morally accountable,” Kuroo recited, regurgitating the law every robotics student in Japan memorized in their first semester of study. “Otherwise-”

“Maybe it’s just because you like seeing me suffer,” Oikawa mused louder, drowning out Kuroo’s voice. Against his will, a smile threatened to break across Kuroo’s face. “Or maybe it’s just some fetish, some higher-up robophile who wanted an excuse to-”

“Funny, I don’t remember programming you with a sense of sarcasm, and yet-”

“Well, you might’ve just created me in your own image,” Oikawa pointed out. The electronic lilt in his voice spelled mischief.

He knew Kuroo too well, really. Somewhere between his circuits and his motherboard and his _fully functional emotional response system,_ he had analyzed the look on Kuroo’s face when he walked into the workshop with a punched-in hole in his stomach and a torn mess of wires where his right arm used to be, and calculated that it meant _fear._

Kuroo was beginning to wonder where exactly the android had picked up that _mocking your creator_ was the correct response, but that was out of his control at this point. Besides, to his own great surprise, Oikawa’s efforts to make him feel better usually _worked._

“Gonna put your arm back on now,” Kuroo told him. He pushed Oikawa gently onto his side, so the stub of his shoulder with its waiting connection ports faced upwards towards the cool fluorescent lights of Kuroo’s workshop. “Alright, here comes the airplane.”

Oikawa sarcastically let out a perfect _A_ tone from his mouth’s speakers as Kuroo fitted his arm back on. Replacing an arm was an easy, streamlined process. Too easy. Too common for the automaton soldiers to lose parts, limbs, even lives-

The arm clicked into place.

“Does it hurt?”

The words escaped Kuroo before he could seal them away. Oikawa flexed his fingers, and a few shivers ran up and down his artificial limb as the connections went live. “Reattaching it?”

“Losing it,” Kuroo clarified. Oikawa turned over and sat up in one smooth motion, still watching Kuroo with his unnervingly keen gaze. “When it gets injured. Broken, I mean.”

“Yes,” said Oikawa quietly. “Every time.”

Neither of them spoke as Oikawa stood up, moved over to the table, and pulled back on his crisp white military shirt and jacket.

“Rather cruel, isn’t it?” Oikawa added, already poised to go. He was facing the door, but Kuroo could still hear the low hum of his voice. “To make a robot who can feel?”

“Don’t come back to visit me too soon,” Kuroo managed to get out without letting his voice crack.

Oikawa threw a quick smile over his shoulder. “No promises.”

And then he was gone.

Kuroo sank down onto the stool next to his workbench and put his head in his hands.

“Lev,” he said to his assistant, “I’m fucked.”

Lev obligingly fired a pair of pliers at him. Kuroo dodged them narrowly - but at this point, he was beginning to think that Lev had the right idea.

[ 5.  Doctor What - Chameleon Circuit ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HuJf9Uh6IFc)

Oikawa gaped at him.

“You’re an _alien?”_

“In the flesh.”

“But - but you said you were from the _East!”_

“Lots of planets have an East.”

The man _(was he even a man?)_ was clearly enjoying himself. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his overcoat and leaned against the blue-painted exterior of his - ship? Police box? Whatever it was, if the narrow view through the door was any indication, it was a _lot_ bigger on the inside. His face was narrow, angular, and curled into a permanent smirk. His honey-gold eyes shone with mischief through the lopsided black fringe that hung over one side of his face and stuck up haphazardly in all directions. “I just watched you destroy a vat of sentient plastic hell-bent on consuming the Earth by swinging over it on a chain to drop a vial of mystery liquid into it, and you’re _surprised_ that I’m not from this planet?”

Oikawa shook his head. “No - you can’t be an alien. You’re wearing _Converse.”_

“Would you believe it if I told you they’re space Converse? From space?”

“Not at all.”

“Damn.” The man sighed in disappointment. “You’re right, I got them from Amazon.”

“Oh, right, and I’m sure you ordered them delivered to _the British blue police call box on the corner of-”_

“She’s called the _Tardis,”_ the man informed him. “And I have a post office box _.”_

“You gave a _police box_ a name?”

“I told you, she’s a ship.”

Oikawa studied him for a moment, carefully examining the strange man and his strange box.

“So… You fight evil vats of sentient plastic regularly, then?”

“Sometimes,” the man said. “And sometimes I do… Other things.”

“All around the galaxy?” Oikawa prompted.

“All around _every_ galaxy,” the man told him. “Whatever, wherever, whenever I want to be.”

_All these years I’ve dreamt of the stars, and he just-_

“You could come with me,” the man said softly. “It can get lonely, up there alone. And I could show you some incredible things.”

Oikawa didn’t have to ask him if he was serious.

“I’m not just going off with some stranger,” he told him.

“Ah.” The man made no effort to conceal the disappointment in his voice as he turned to go. “Well, I’ll just-”

“You have to tell me who you are first,” Oikawa cut him off.

And _there_ was the smirk that Oikawa couldn’t help but mirror. “Easy. I’m the Doctor.”

“Doctor _who?”_ Oikawa pressed.

The Doctor turned and grinned at Oikawa over his shoulder.

“Exactly,” he answered, and strode into the Tardis. “Coming?”

***

Oikawa prodded with interest at a big silver lever. “What’s this do?”

“Don’t touch that,” the man requested absently as he fiddled with one of the dials. “There’s a lot of things this console can do, you know, you might accidentally touch something dangerous and-”

Oikawa stared straight into the man’s eyes and sat down on an entire panel of buttons. A few confused noises sounded from the console, and the lights in one of the adjacent hallways flicked off, but otherwise there was no impact.

The man sighed, but the gleam in his eyes betrayed his amusement. “Don’t suppose you’ll ever stay safely put when I tell you, either?”

“Not a chance.”

[ 6.  Touch Me - Spring Awakening ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WGcX2ejeNYg)

“You’re so full of shit,” was the first thing Iwaizumi said when he found out.

(Well, actually, that was the second thing he said. The first thing he had said was, “Did your neck get attacked by a coven of vampires?”, and it was only after Oikawa had explained the situation that Iwaizumi had fixed him with his no-nonsense look and hit him with the snub.)

“Iwa-chan, you always say that,” Oikawa pointed out. “And yet here I am today, full of nothing but kindness and warmth and hopefully Kuroo-chan’s-”

“Alright, I take it back,” Iwaizumi cut him off. “You’re not just full of shit, you’re full of _uncommitted_ shit. Not-self-aware shit. You are the diarrhea of being full of shit. Half-baked shit. Loose and unpleasant.”

Unfortunately for Iwaizumi, his insults were just white noise in Oikawa’s ears at this point. Oikawa flapped an airy hand. “Don’t worry about it, Iwa-chan. Did you forget the part where it’s just casual sex? It’s not like we’re going to fall in love, move in together, and adopt six cats.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. “Right. Like _you_ ever do anything _casually.”_

***

Kuroo was snickering. It wasn’t aloud, but Oikawa could feel Kuroo’s chest shaking against his side. He frowned down at him. “Hey, why are _you_ laughing? You didn’t expect this any more than I did.”

“Well, he was _right,”_ Kuroo reminded him. “You _don’t_ keep things casual.”

“Okay, that’s true,” Oikawa allowed. “All things considered.”

“Also, I’m kind of impressed at how creative his insults got.”

“Heh. He’s had a lot of practice.”

Outside, the rain drummed down on the roof and spattered against the window. For a moment, they were quiet - Kuroo nestled into Oikawa’s side, Oikawa’s palm rubbing slow circles into the small of Kuroo’s back.

And then Kuroo broke the silence with a soft, hesitant, “One day, maybe-”

“Two cats,” Oikawa interrupted. “No more.”

_“Three.”_

“Deal.”

“And pink, for the kitchen,” Kuroo added.

Oikawa sniffed. “I have _taste,_ Tetsu-chan.”

Then Kuroo was spilling over with laughter and nuzzling into Oikawa’s shoulder. Oikawa made use of Kuroo’s massive hair to hide the grin spreading across his face, wider than the ocean, brighter than the sun.

[ 7.  Whatsername - Green Day ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z2LC1xrdOaM)

They found each other years after high school had ended, on a beautiful summer day, in a meadow of wildflowers nestled in the shadow of the mountains. Kuroo had a backpack full of groceries, and Oikawa had an entire shopping cart full of sake, so they figured they could serve some mutual interests.

On the first round of sake, they flopped down in the grass together and told each other their stories. Kuroo had been in the first blast zone and Oikawa the second, so they were both pretty well on their way out, as far as either of them could figure. Oikawa held out a hand to show Kuroo how his fingernails were rotting away, and Kuroo tugged on his hair and showed Oikawa the clump of messy black in his fist. It had come out as easily as picking off lint.

Oikawa started giggling. “Your hair looks even worse than before.”

Kuroo hid his laugh behind a snort. “Hey, be nice to me, I’m _dying.”_

Then they were both laughing aloud, because the most ghastly things were the most funny, these days.

On the second round of sake, they were silent, watching fluffy white clouds scoot across the clear, deadly sky.

On the third round of sake, Kuroo asked Oikawa if he believed in an afterlife.

“Do you?” Oikawa replied.

Kuroo elbowed him in the side. “None of that.”

Oikawa made a face at him, slightly delayed with the onset of tipsiness. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m _tons_ of fun,” Kuroo assured him. “Answer the question.”

“Fine.” Oikawa sighed. “I don’t know.”

Kuroo inclined his head for Oikawa to continue.

“I.” Oikawa shifted around a little. “I… I wish I did. But I’m a science person, you know? I don’t believe in anything that isn’t proven. And we have no evidence beyond blind hope.”

“Didn’t someone once say that there’s no magic but science we don’t understand yet?” Kuroo asked the bright blue sky. “We have no evidence that consciousness exists, either, and yet here we are.”

“Yes,” Oikawa affirmed. “So, either we’re going to find out soon or we’re going to just stop existing altogether.”

“Mm,” Kuroo hummed. “We’ve got a few months, I think. What do we do in the meantime?”

“Drink more sake,” Oikawa decided, and reached for the bottle.

On the fourth round of sake, Oikawa turned and propped himself up on his elbow, facing Kuroo. Kuroo mirrored him, long and lanky, and they stared at each other for a minute.

“D’you think the earth’s going to fix itself?” Oikawa asked abruptly.

Kuroo’s eyes flicked down to the dying grass. “Maybe… Someday. After all the radiation has had time to decay away.”

“You think there’ll be life again someday?”

“We’re life,” Kuroo pointed out.

Oikawa huffed. “We’re the apocalypse’s leftovers. I mean, _real_ life. Life that can make more life.”

Kuroo stared at the grass.

“Dunno,” he said at last. “I don’t know what they might grow from, but the human race was highly improbable in the first place.”

“If there are archaeologists,” Oikawa announced, “I want them to find my bones right here. In this meadow.”

“Alcohol content included, I presume.”

“Oh, naturally. How do you want them to find _you?”_

“Like this,” Kuroo said. And he reached out and carefully interlaced his fingers with Oikawa’s, one by one.

On the fifth round of sake, Kuroo’s eyes lingered on Oikawa’s lips around the mouth of the bottle, lingered on the swipe of his tongue across them.

“Oikawa, will you kiss me?” he asked quietly.

Oikawa thought about it, and then decided, “I wouldn’t kiss you if - if you were the _last man on Earth.”_

Kuroo heaved a mock sigh as Oikawa broke down in helpless giggling over his own joke. But when he was done, he pulled Kuroo onto him and kissed his cheekbones, his nose, his lips under the pristine poisoned sky.

8.

Two ancient trees stretched upwards from the soil, yearning towards each other with the curves of their branches and the bends of their trunks, with limbs intertwined so closely that neither of them could have ever breathed or grown or lived alone.


End file.
